A Christmas Caryl
by ShazzyZhang
Summary: They decided to celebrate Christmas. And some people took to it better than others. Others, just wanted to make sure the people they cared about got what they wanted for Christmas. Fluffy insane little Christmas-themed Caryl drabble. T for suggestive themes. Humbug.


_AN: One-eyed Odin help me. Seriously. I can't... I fucking... can't... I goddammit, I blame Shipperwolf; and she didn't even do anything, except existed._

_I own nothing and I worship less often in the house of Kirkman since the casting out of Mazzara. (And also how sucky Issue 104 was; I haven't gotten issue 105 yet because 104 sucked so hard, IMO.)_

_And now I am dead._

_Happy Holidays._

_-Shazzy_

**-A Christmas Caryl-**

It was the first Christmas in the prison, and the first one that they'd been able to relax enough to celebrate since the world had gone to hell. There were some things that you just didn't let go of.

Gifts were picked by the scouting parties and while Rick and Glenn and Daryl knew what everyone had gotten, and asked for nothing in return, it was really more the thought that counted. Gifts were practical things nowadays. A knife here, and a sweater there. A chocolate bar was just as coveted as a box of ammunition, and both were accepted thankfully with tears glistening in the eyes of the recipient.

Daryl had made a point to hunt; determined to bag something more substantial than wood thrush and rabbit. A smoking deer on a spit would make a welcome Christmas feast, and the canned goods pillaged from the prison's stores rounded out a meal.

Rick was vigilant, almost afraid to relax. Hershel quoted the Christmas story from the Bible to those of Faith who would listen. Beth and Maggie cooked. Glenn made extra trips into the nearest town and scavenged the highway for anything that remotely resembled a gift. Carl did whatever he could to help.

And then, there was Carol.

She bustled about the prison, humming merrily to herself, or singing songs to Judith as she went about her daily chores. She recited the words of poems and stories as easily as though she were reading them from a book. Even Rick seemed to relax as he heard the chorus to the various Christmas songs echoing through the cold, empty halls of the prison.

Daryl heard them too, from across the yard where he worked quietly, alone, scouting, watching, hunting. There hadn't been a lot of room in the Dixon household for Christmas songs. Holiday tradition for the Dixon boys growing up had meant watching their Dad drink himself into a stupor and praying that things didn't turn violent. Christmas with Merle meant take out food for dinner if they were lucky, and sober. Most often, though, Christmas for Daryl meant another night alone waiting and worrying if it would be the day that he got the phone call telling him that his brother wouldn't be coming home in the morning.

Somehow, though, hearing her singing to Judith, or watching her recite "The Night Before Christmas" while she fed the infant made the days seems less bleak, more like the holidays that Daryl knew he should have been missing.

And still, Daryl couldn't bring himself to actually _care_ about the fact that it was Christmas.

He didn't care that the remaining group was celebrating their lives. He didn't care that Rick and Glenn were trying desperately to make it seem normal, to make it seem warm and comfortable, despite the threat of constant danger. He didn't care that Tyrese and Michonne, and even Axel, had been accepted into the little family. He found himself scowling more often as he worked, unimpressed and uncaring that it was Christmas, that there was actually joy to be found among the horrors and heartbreak that the past year had visited upon the group.

Here was another Christmas where he was left without Merle, positive that his brother wasn't coming home.

Here was another Christmas where Daryl wasn't going to feel any joy at waking up to see a Christmas tree in the living room.

Here was another Christmas where he'd much rather be working, hunting and patrolling than sitting around listening to tidings of joy and good cheer.

And, of all things, he was stuck dealing with it without the assistance of hard liquor.

She was the only one who really noticed it. Everyone else was so busy, so wrapped up in their own preparations and their own feelings that his distance didn't even register. It wasn't like he didn't do it already anyway.

She approached him one night while he sat by the fire they still lit every night outside.

He didn't flinch or try to scoot away when she sat next to him.

He simply eyed her as she sat close to him in the cooling night air, silently thankful that she wasn't carrying the baby for once. While he had nothing but adoration for the little Grimes, Daryl was happy to have a moment with Carol without the squalling, tiny human demanding attention.

"Christmas is in less than two days." Carol said quietly, staring into the fire as she held her hands out to warm them.

Daryl grunted in response.

"Well, aren't you a Scrooge." She pressed lightly.

"Someone's gotta be a realist." Daryl replied. "Might as well be me."

Carol quirked her eyebrow but didn't say anything. That infuriating little knowing smile touching the corner of her lip and lighting up her eyes.

Daryl glared back. "I don't see the point in everyone pretendin' that it's a holiday. There's no point., Hell, we're not even entirely sure that it _is_ Christmas. We got best guesses is all." He sniffled, cranky over the whole celebration idea. "We don't have much to celebrate, anyway."

"I think you're wrong." Carol said quietly. "We have plenty to celebrate. We might as well make the most of what blessings we've got while we've got 'em, don't you think?" She pushed. "Is there anything more pure than Christmas? Anything more wonderful mister Scrooge?"

"Humbug." Daryl grumbled. "You gonna tell me that I'm gonna be visited by three ghosts in the night? Gonna tell me that I must change my ways for the good of this little family of ours?" He continued, rambling unhappily as he stared into the fire, trying desperately to ignore her amusement at his expense.

"No." Carol replied, scooting closer to Daryl. She leaned in closer to him, her lips barely brushing against his ear. "I was gonna tell you..."

The three things she whispered made Daryl's face turn red. He ground his jaw, trying to hide his discomfort.

Carol watched him with a look of amusement on her face.

Finally, Daryl turned to look her dead in the eye.

"According to the story, the ghosts visit Scrooge all in one night." He said slowly, a smirk threatening to turn his lips. "I don't think you'd have time t' do all of what you just said in one night."

That familiar, playful little eyebrow twitch and smile combination lit up Carol's face. "You don't believe that would change your whole look on Christmas?" She asked after a long moment.

"Hum. Bug." Daryl repeated.

"I'll see you at the _stroke_ of midnight." Carol said, standing and walking away, leaving Daryl to tend to the fire and wonder exactly how long it was 'til midnight.


End file.
